


Thunderbirds Are Go – “Fishing 101”

by countessofsnark



Category: Thunderbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countessofsnark/pseuds/countessofsnark
Summary: Based on a prompt by @wonderavianVirgil and Gordon go fishing, but they’re out of bait and only realise until they get there, so they have to improvise. Also, Gordon never kills or eats any of the fish he catches.





	Thunderbirds Are Go – “Fishing 101”

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by @wonderavian
> 
> _Virgil and Gordon go fishing, but they’re out of bait and only realise until they get there, so they have to improvise. Also, Gordon never kills or eats any of the fish he catches._

Somewhere in the lush woods of the Canadian Rockies, the large green bulk that is Thunderbird 2 slowly descends and lands without causing so much as a stir among local wildlife. When the hatch opens, two figures walk out. One of them looks around while uttering a sigh of quiet contentment, while the other is frowning at his surroundings as if he’d rather escape to a beach in some tropical part of the world.

‘Come on, Gordon. We’ve got a long walk ahead of us and I would love to get to the lake before noon.’

‘Yes, General,’ the blonde beach bum groans.

‘I promise you it’ll be worth the hike,’ Virgil tries, flashing an encouraging smile at his younger sibling.

‘It had better be. I just don’t get why we couldn’t have taken a pod or maybe that quad Scott bought you for your 20th birthday.’

‘Walking is the healthiest and most environment-friendly option, little bro. For someone who’s all about taking care of the oceans, you should know better.’

‘Oh haha, nice one. Careful now, you’re treading dangerous waters.’

‘So are you when you’re talking about these woods.’

When they finally emerge from the woods, the sigh that meets their eyes is breath taking. A huge mountain lake laps at the shores of the forest, its surface reflecting the impressive mountain range in the background. Snowcapped summits and imposing grey mountain faces. This is Virgil’s true home away from home. With that red-and-black lumberjack shirt, dark blue jeans, and sturdy boots, he looks like he has always belonged.

‘Alright. Let’s get busy setting up our camp,’ Virgil grins as they reach a green patch just outside the rim of the forest. 

‘I thought you said you’d checked everything,’ Gordon moans, his foot tapping impatiently while Virgil is rummaging through their backpacks in search of the bait they were sure they’d packed at some point.

‘And I distinctly remember telling you to stop complaining about fish massacres and make sure the fishing supplies were tucked away in the same bag,’ Virgil retorts, his brown eyes aglow with anger.

‘Hey look, so we’ve encountered a bit of a drawback. Big deal, we can just forego the fishing and maybe catch some other food, right?’

‘No. We are going to fish, and we are going to get some bait. Improvise, Gordo.’

‘You have got to be kidding me.’

‘Do I look like I’m kidding?’

Gordon chooses wisely not to answer. He gets up and stretches in a dramatic fashion before offering to join his brother in the search for live bait. 

An hour later, they have both gathered enough squiggly worms and other small lifeforms that should get the attention of whatever is swimming in that lake. Virgil wastes no time prepping hooks and mercilessly impaling fat pink worms. 

While the sky is shifting from a dazzling pink-purple to the deep blues of night, two young men are sitting around a campfire. The sound of wood crackling and popping mingles with the sounds of the forest. Virgil smiles when he catches the distinct hoot of a nearby owl. Gordon, meanwhile, is scowling at the giant trout that’s slowly roasting above the fire. His trout. The one he told Virgil not to use as a meal. The one that Virgil promised to chuck back into the lake, until he realised just how tasty it would be. Virgil had caught a few juicy fishies, though none of them were near the calibre of that trout. Because as it turned out, Gordon is an ace at fishing. He caught more and bigger fish than his brother, who was beaming rather proudly at Gordon’s fishing prowess. Gordon accepted the praise and quietly swore to avenge the life of that poor trout.

‘You sure you don’t even want to try? Just one bite?’

‘For the last and final time, Virge. I. Don’t. Eat. Fish. Or any other ocean animals for that matter.’

‘Okay then. Enjoy the ramen and beef jerky. But don’t come crying when you’re waking up all hungry in the middle of the night,’ Virgil shrugs. 

They are sharing a big bowl of miso soup, one of Virgil’s absolute favourite brews. The tofu that is bobbing around in the dark brown liquid was flown over from Japan last week. Fresh and yummy, just the way they like it. 

After the dishes were cleaned and the fire had been carefully extinguished, the two siblings retreat into their tents, wishing each other a good night. Virgil had prepared a luxurious plaid sleeping bag, consisting of flannel on the outside as well as the inside. Gordon called it the Lumberjack Burrito. He takes off his clothes and neatly folds them, ready to be re-used the next day – barring his underwear, which is stowed into a plastic laundry bag. A clean boxer short tops the pile of clothes next to the sleeping bag. 

Virgil slips inside the body-sized flannel glove. As his head touches the equally flannel pillow, he is completely relaxed and ready to drift into the welcoming arms of sleep.

The next morning, he wakes up feeling like he can take on the world. He yawns and stretches inside his flannel cocoon. But after the joy of waking up following a fantastic night’s sleep, other sensations begin to set in. Virgil sighs, rubs his face, and crawls out of the sleeping bag. His hands instinctively reach for the pile of clothes he folded last night. His brain is still half sleep, but the snoozing half is jolted wide awake when he realises that his clothes are not where they ought to be. However, Virgil has no time to consider the hows-and-whys of this situation. He has to answer the call of nature before it ruins a perfectly neat tent. 

The cold morning air causes goosebumps all over his body. He runs towards the nearest set of bushes and utters a groan of relief while one of two causes of pressure begins to fade. 

Suddenly, his ears catch a gasp. A female gasp, followed by the sound of logs falling. He turns and finds himself staring straight at a pair of girls, clad from head to toe in hiking gear. That’s when he remembers that he is currently rocking his birthday suit. 

‘Hey Virge. These girls told me they were looking for wood, so I showed them to your tent.’ 

Now another sound is joining the deafening roar of an awkward silence. It is Gordon cackling at the fact that sometimes, revenge is a dish best served immediately and without remorse.

 

Bonus content:

The flight home turns out to be one of the most awkward flights ever. Virgil’s eyes are still glowing with barely contained anger. His hands are tightly clutching TB’s controls.

Gordon is sitting next to him, sulking quietly. The only highlight of the day will be that glorious moment when Virgil has to explain to Grandma why Gordon is sporting a fashionable black eye. Surely this time around she won’t be picking Virgil’s side. Surely.


End file.
